Shanna (39 page)

“I will get him away for you,” Pitney finally muttered. He doffed his nightcap and replaced it with a tricorn then slipped his long feet into a pair of brass-buckled shoes. “I'll not see you abused.”

He closed the door behind him, and Shanna was left staring at the portal, knowing the victory of winning her way yet feeling no joy in it. Aware that she must stay away from the manor until Pitney concluded his business, she poured herself a cup of tea and sat down at the trestle table to sip the brew, there watching the last of the embers die into blackness. In the empty house, the chiming of the clock seemed to echo Pitney's words.

“Abused!”

Shanna was suddenly struck by the absurdity of it, the sheer ludicrous fallacy of the word. Hysterical laughter spilled from her, and if anyone had heard her, they might have doubted her sanity.

Ruark was sprawled carelessly across his bed, staring at the canopy above him when hoofbeats sounded on the path outside the cottage. He was halfway to the door when a light rap came against the wood. His mind roared with relief. Twas Shanna, of course. But on flinging open the portal Ruark saw only Pitney's broad, angry face. Then the night exploded in a billion twinkling lights before darkness descended with the thud of his body against the carpet.

The surging pain in Ruark's head made him aware of the slow rolling motion of the floor beneath him. It seemed to rock him in a cradle, and through his muddled senses he heard only an odd creaking. His world expanded, and he realized he was gagged and bound tightly with a musty sack pulled down over his head and shoulders. The rough flooring beneath him became a small
boat. He recognized the squeaking of oarlocks and the slow lap of water against the wooden sides. There was only this and heavy breathing from close-by, and he realized he was being rowed out to sea, for what mischief yet he could not perceive, but he had a fair guess it stemmed from Shanna. He jeered bitterly in the dark void of his confinement She could not even hear him out before she passed judgment.

“I guess ye've done it this time,” Pitney's voice rasped, and Ruark became aware that the man was muttering to himself. He lay still, feigning unconsciousness, and listened at the rumbling words that threaded through his aching brain. “I cannot drop ye to the fish, and mayhap this here will be worse for ye, but she said to get ye gone, one way or the other, and I'd better do it ere she find some other way to be rid of ye.” A long pause of silence mingled with the creaking of oars, then a heaving sigh. “If ye'd only had the good sense, lad, to leave the filly be. I warned ye once, but I guess ye forgot. I've been too long seeing the lass safe to let her be taken against her will, even by you.”

Ruark cursed in his mind and tried to loosen the ropes about his wrists, but they were tied hard and fast There was only futility in struggling anyway. He could not imagine Pitney taking away his gag to listen to him, not when Shanna had convinced the man of her plight.

The rowing slowed, and a voice hailed the boat. Pitney called back, and several moments later Ruark was thrown over the huge man's shoulder and carted onto the deck of the ship where he was unceremoniously dumped. Ruark held back a groan and remained motionless, though it seemed his whole body throbbed with the pain in his head. He could not catch the words in the exchange of voices, but he heard the clink of coins as a fair sum was counted out. A heavy thud of feet crossed the deck, and Ruark knew Pitney was making his departure. Not long afterwards, the sack was jerked off Ruark's head, and the gag snatched from his mouth. To his displeasure a bucket of sea water was tossed upon him, and he was roughly hauled to his feet as he sputtered beneath this assault. Still bound, he was tied to a mast. A lantern was thrust near, and an ugly face leered in its light.

“Well, laddie, so ye're comin' round,” a hoarse voice snarled. “Ye'll do nicely here 'til we can tend to ye.”

The lantern went away. Amid soft commands the sails were unfurled, the anchor raised. Soon a freshening dawn breeze was licking at Ruark's face, and the schooner was skipping along over the waves. Ruark bent his neck around and watched as the lights of Los Camellos faded from view. At last Shanna had seen him off her island.

Sighing, Ruark resigned himself and leaned his head back against the mast Somehow he would find a way to return and renew his claims. This changed nothing. She was still his wife. But first he must make the best of his situation and survive.

Ruark spent his first night aboard ship lashed to the pinrail at the base of the main mast The schooner had little more than left sight of the island when the anchor was dropped again, and, with sails flapping loose, the ship swung about and rested on her chains. With the exception of the watch on the quarterdeck, the vessel remained devoid of life. It was not until the sun was a good two hours up that a crewman wandered close enough to be halted by Ruark's request. The man shrugged his shoulders and made his way aft where a few moments later a heavyset Englishman ventured forth and, after leaning against the rail for a space, noticed Ruark and came to stand before him.

“ Twould seem to me, sir,” Ruark opened the conversation, “that there is little reason for me to be so bound and secured, as I have done you no harm and most certainly intend none. Is it not possible that I could be released to see to my needs?”

“Well now, laddie,” the Englishman drawled. “We ain' got no reason to see ye uncomfortable, but I ain' got no reason to trust ye, neither.” He squinted one eye down at Ruark. “Why, I don't know ye none at all.”

“ 'Tis a simple enough problem to cure,” Ruark returned. “Ruark's the name. John Ruark, of late a trusted bondsman to his majesty Lord Trahern” It was inspiration alone that let a trace of a sneer creep into his voice. “I'm aware that you received a goodly sum to take me aboard, and I would think as a paid passenger I could at least have freedom of the ship.” He gave a nod of his
head toward the unbroken horizon. “As you might have guessed, I have no plans to travel from the deck.”

“I sees no 'arm in that.” The man spat downwind, clearing the rail easily. Taking out a knife, he tested its edge with his thumb. “ 'Arripen's the name. Captain of me own ship when I'm aboard 'er. An' 'Arry to me friends.” He leaned forward and with quick movements slashed the ropes that bound Ruark to the mast.

“My gratitude, Captain Harripen.” Ruark chose the more respectful title as he rubbed his wrist; vigorously to restore circulation. “I am forever in your debt”

“ 'At's good,” his benefactor grunted. “ 'Cause I don't owe no man nothing.” Again Ruark was fixed with that squinted one-eyed stare. “Ye talks mighty fancy fer a bondsman.” Though a statement, it was also a question.

Ruark chuckled. “A temporary state I assure you, captain, and in truth I do not know yet whether to condemn those who turned against me or thank them.” He jerked his head toward the forecastle. “If you'll excuse me, captain, I have needs that have gone long awanting. I would be further indebted if you might arrange for me to speak to the captain of this vessel later.”

“Ye can be sure o' that, laddie.” The man spat again and with the back of his hand wiped brown spittle from his stubbled chin.

Ruark eased his condition and then found food and a mug of ale. The latter seemed the most plentiful commodity aboard the ship. His breakfast taken, he sought out a coil of rope in a spot of shade and lay down, quickly regaining the slumber he had lost during the night.

It was near dusk when he was roused and taken to the captain's cabin and there subjected to a long, silent scrutiny from those men who sat around the trestle table. Ruark had never seen a scurvier bunch. A mulatto sat forward in his chair, leaning heavy arms upon the tabletop, and fixed Ruark with a dark glare.

“A blondslave, ya say? How come ya to be one?”

Ruark debated the question a brief moment, staring at the scarred and brooding faces across from him. If these were the gentry of any society, he was a wee, innocent babe.

“Murder it was.” His eyes swept them all, and no flicker
of surprise brightened those black stares. “They bought me from the gaol and made me work to pay the debt.”

“ 'Oo got ye off the island?” Harripen inquired, picking his teeth with his fingernails.

Ruark lazily scratched his chest and smiled ruefully. “A lady who didn't like the little filly who was waiting for me in the hayloft”

The Englishman roared his mirth. “Now that, laddie, I can believe. Must o' been a rich one, the coins she paid to see ye gone.”

Ruark shrugged, noncommittal.

“What does the squire keep in his warehouses?” The scar-faced captain of the schooner sat forward. “Riches? Silks? Spices?”

Ruark met the man's eyes with a lazy grin and rubbed his belly. “Been a long time atwixt meals, mate.” He jerked a thumb at the platters that still filled one end of the table. “Might I have a bite?”

A half-eaten leg of some smallish animal was pushed toward him along with a mug of warm ale. Ruark found himself a chair and settled to dine.

“ 'Bout those warehouses?” the swarthy, scarred man reminded him.

“Pass the bread will you, mate?” Ruark wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and washed the meat down with a draught of ale. Tearing a chunk from the loaf tossed to him, he mopped at the gravy on the platter then seized a shirt that hung on the back of his chair and cleaned his hands on it.

“Ya've had yer fill now,” the mulatto growled. “What's in them sheds?”

“Everything.” Ruark shrugged and laughed jeeringly. “But 'tis of no value to you.” He grinned back as the men stared at him with heavy frowns. “You'll never get into the harbor.” He dipped his finger in the ale and drew a partial circle on the table, leaving the ends unjoined. His finger widened the bottom of the circle into a puddle as he commented, “This is the town—where the warehouses are,” he added for the mulatto's benefit. “Here”—he drew an “X” on one end of the arc—“and here”—he drew another “X” across from the first—“are batteries of cannons.
To enter the harbor, you sail right between them.” He traced a line through the opening.

Ruark sat back, surveyed the faces watching him, then gave a soft chuckle.

“You'd be blown from the water before you got close to the sheds.”

Ruark had only guessed they might be pirates, but now the disappointment on their faces proved it. The Englishman, Harripen, leaned back and again picked his teeth with a fingernail.

“Ye seem light'earted, me lad,” he rumbled. “Could it be ye've somethin' up yer sleeve?”

Ruark folded his bare arms and let the question go unanswered for a long moment as he appeared to ponder a problem.

“Well, mates,” he gave them a lopsided grin, “had I a sleeve, that might well be said, but as you can see I have naught but a sorry pair of breeches hardly worthy of the name. Thus in my poverty, everything I have is most dear and commands a price.” He laughed at the suddenly angry expressions. “Like yourselves, I do nothing for nothing. I have long looked upon the weaknesses of Trahern's island and know a way to come off with little loss and the probability of much gain.” Ruark leaned forward and spread his elbows wide on the table, motioning them near as if in confidence. “I can tell you of a way in, and I can tell you where the moneys of the store and of Trahern's own accounts are kept.” The pirates would gain enough coin from these coffers to make it seem like a haul, but Ruark knew that Trahern removed most of the money to the manor and held it in his own strongbox.

“Of course,”—Ruark reclined back in his chair and seemed to dismiss the pirates' now eager looks—“if you want the raw oakum and the bales of hemp in the warehouses, you can as well go there.” He waited a space, then shrugged, spreading his hands. “I have little else to trade, gentlemen. What say you?”

The French half-breed captain thrust forward a wide-bladed knife and fingered the well-honed edge of it.

“You have your life, bondsman,” he sneered.

“Aye, that I have.” And Ruark reminded him, “I returned the favor by warning you of the guns. I will ad
vance my cause further and tell you that the
Hampstead,
with twenty-odd fine cannon, is at anchor in the harbor. Should you gain the inner port you would have to face her, and how long would you stay with that one breathing fire and shot down your neck?”

“And you'll no doubt demand a captain's share for your plan,” the half-breed snorted with rich sarcasm, “while we risk our necks for it.”

“A captain's share will do nicely, thank you,” Ruark accepted with a chuckle, ignoring the jeer. “I am not overly greedy. As to the necks, I will lead you and thus risk my own from both sides.”

“Done then! A captain's share it be if we take a haul,” Captain Harripen chortled, enjoying the turnabout on his French cohort. “Now, laddie, out with it What be yer scheme?”

Though no movement was detectable, the air of expectancy grew to great proportions. They were all ears to hear the details of his plan.

“Near the east end of the island,” Ruark improvised as he spoke, “the water is deep, and you could lay the ship less than a cable's length from shore.”

“An' to the west?” the mulatto asked suspiciously.

“Shallow!” Ruark replied. “Two or three fathoms at most, with a reef well offshore. Closest you'll get there would be a mile or two.” He did not want them landing near the manor house, but his words were for the most part truth, although he made no mention of the men who patrolled the shorelines at night.

“Let the lad say his piece!” Harripen railed impatiently, and the mulatto reluctantly subsided.

“There's a signal gun on the hill,” Ruark started again.

“Yah, we know dat. We hear it when we come in,” the Dutchman said.